©2021 Michael Raven

bound by ørlǫg
those things already writ
a noose tightening
in grip and fit
i ache to brush away
stone solid fates:
such is the way
of immature wishings
cast to unfavorable tides

am i mad?
are flames viewed behind
cloth-tied eyes just
another added torture?
if so, stitch my
mouth shut to pair
it with my blind sight

time and time and time
who cares for time?
there is only now
and not now

i am filled with want of now
but the sisters laugh
at want as much as wish
at times, I can hear
their laughter
echoed in the spinning
of the nine with
each turn

fear of night woods
alone again